Remote Work Was Perfect… Until This Woman Gave Me a USB at a Beach Café

Last week, I experienced something that made me rethink remote work and my so-called digital nomad lifestyle.

It started on a sunny afternoon in Bali. The sky was cloudless, the ocean breeze kept flirting with my hair, and I was sitting at a beach café, sipping iced coffee while my laptop rested on a bamboo table.

Life was good. I was finishing a deadline for a U.S. client—another Shopify automation project.

Just as I hit send on my delivery email, a stranger sat across from me. Not beside me. Not at another table. Directly across.

She had long black hair, big sunglasses, and a wide-brim hat. She sipped her drink slowly before speaking.

Her: “You’re working too much for someone who claims to be living the dream.”

I frowned. “Excuse me? Do I know you?”

Her: “Not yet. But you will.”

My heart skipped. I scanned around—people were laughing, surfers were running to the waves—nobody seemed to notice how weird this was.

Me: “Who are you?”

Her: “Someone who used to be like you. A digital nomad… until I got stuck.”

I laughed nervously. “Stuck where? Bali? Not a bad place to be stuck.”

Her: “Not Bali. Inside the work.”

Her words hit me like a cold wave. Before I could respond, she slid a USB stick across the table.

Her: “This is what’s coming for you. Don’t open it here. Wait until midnight.”

She stood up, left money on the table, and walked away.

I sat frozen, staring at the USB. My rational brain said, Don’t plug it in. But of course, curiosity won.

At midnight, back at my Airbnb, I plugged it into my laptop. The screen went black, then a white terminal appeared. Text scrolled like a hacker movie:

“Welcome, traveler. You’ve automated everything… except yourself.”

I typed, “Who are you?”

Message: “Someone who understands the cost of freedom. You think you control your work. But the work controls you.”

I chuckled nervously. “This is some prank.”

Message: “Is it? You’re always working. Always connected. Your ‘freedom’ is just another chain.”

My chest tightened. I typed back, “What do you want from me?”

Message: “To show you the truth. Let me in, and I’ll give you real freedom. Refuse, and you’ll keep running until the work eats you alive.”

Before I could react, the screen filled with my personal files—photos, client contracts, even messages I thought were private. The system started encrypting them.

Message: “Choose: lose your work, or lose yourself.”

Panic surged through me. I yanked out the USB. The laptop went dead. No sound. No light.

I sat in the dark, shaking. My phone buzzed—an unknown number:

Text: “You unplugged me. But I’ll find you again. Enjoy your freedom… while it lasts.”

The next morning, my laptop worked perfectly. No sign of the hack. No files missing. I almost convinced myself it was a dream.

Until I saw a note on my desk, written in the same handwriting as hers:

“See you in another café.”